


probably the worst time to have to pee

by ancientgarbage



Series: scraps of Strider omo [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Omorashi, The pairing is implied, Trans Character, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5823397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancientgarbage/pseuds/ancientgarbage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has to pee so badly. How long are they going to keep doing this? Why didn’t he excuse himself earlier, before they started fighting? He feels like he might cry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, Dirk has to pee during a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	probably the worst time to have to pee

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write some in-game omo this time! i suppose it's a bit of an AU, since a couple of them are just fighting in some non-descriptive place, but. yeah.   
> also dave has a little piss kink just like david does so omg.   
> they're both trans btw! even jane can be, if you want. 
> 
> (my new nsfw blog is softysnsfw @ tumblr. so feel free to request things over there.)

It shouldn’t have turned out this way. 

Dirk presses his slender legs close together, biting down on his lower lip as he tries not to tremble with desperation. He’s had to pee for nearly two hours now, but he’s had no time to sneak away from the battle to pull his puffy pants ( _ bloomers _ ) down, squat beside some rubble or another and let out what he’s been holding for much too long. With every step he takes, every time he flash steps or raises his sword to strike down another enemy, the worse his need becomes. Any sort of movement seems to send jolts to his overfull bladder and more often than not he finds himself tugging at the elastic of his bloomers, trying to give himself a bit of relief. It’s never enough.

“On your left!” Comes a slightly panicked shout. Dirk, on instinct, whips around and slashes the enemy right across the chest. It explodes in a cloud of dust. He can hear the little jingle of grist being added to his metaphorical wallet. And that’s all great, but the quick movement caused his bladder to jostle painful and now he stands on trembling legs, slightly hunched over, eyes darting back and forth as his friends battle the enemies crawling out from god knows where.

He has to pee so badly. How long are they going to keep doing this? Why didn’t he excuse himself earlier, before they started fighting? He feels like he might cry. He blinks back tears as desperation hits him like a tidal wave. Bouncing lightly on his feet, he launches into the air as another of his friends shouts for someone to fly above to see how many monsters are left. 

But his flying is shaky at best and he can barely grit out the number of enemies approaching before he hunches over, descending as he shoves his hands between his legs. It’s too much. He can’t hold himself and fight at the same time; the thought of the others finding out just how desperate he is is enough to renew his fragile resolve, if only to defend Dave from a monster that had been coming up from behind.

“Shit, thanks.” Dave pauses, trying to catch his breath, his hands shaking for entirely different reason from Dirk’s. “You okay?” He asks, brow furrowing as he looks Dirk up and down. 

There seems to be a lull in action. Everyone else is fighting around them. Sweat beads on Dirk’s forehead, trickles down his back. He can feel something  _ else _ trickle out, just for a moment, but his audible gasp and scared expression are enough to bring Dave right against his side. 

He grips Dirk’s arm, concern clear in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

And this is the perfect chance to admit his need. No one else is listening, no one is even paying them any mind, too focused on hacking apart the enemies. To Dirk, it feels like the whole fight is moving around them in slow motion. He’s sure if he didn’t have these arm covers that went down to his hands like fingerless gloves, he’d have dropped his sword by now. His hands are so sweaty. He feels so warm and uncomfortable and he can hardly stand still. It takes every inch of control to keep his hands away from his crotch. 

“I --” he swallows. His voice is higher pitched, a little hoarse. He doesn’t even realize he isn’t deepening his voice. All he can focus on is how badly he has to pee, how long he’s been holding it and oh  _ god _ he can feel himself leaking again, shit fuck just tell him just tell him -- “I  _ can’t _ \--” his voice is little more than a whine and he just wants to say it but he  _ can’t _ , he’s too scared of Dave’s judgement even though he trusts the guy with his life, even though he’s woken up next to him before, nearly seconds away from bursting. He can’t say it now. And whether it’s because there are others around him or the embarrassment of even being caught in this situation is too much to handle, he doesn’t know. 

He just knows that he sniffles and crosses one leg over the other, leaning forward and pressing the palm of his free hand hard against his crotch at a particularly rough spasm. His bladder throbs in time with his heart and the blood rushes in his ears. He barely registers Dave squeezing his arm tightly, his body tensing as Dirk’s problem dawns on him. 

“Heads up, you two!” Jane yells out, her weapon whizzing past them to impale a monster they didn’t even realize had gotten so close.

They flinch at the same time, have the same white-knuckled grip on their swords, but Dirk is considerably less steady on his feet. He doesn’t even understand how he’s moving to fight anymore, but he  _ does _ understand that the dripping he feels isn’t his imagination. He’s leaking steadily and he can’t stop it while he’s fighting and his moves are jerky and he feels like this is the end, he’s going to piss himself in battle and then get skewered for all to see. 

He can’t silence the sob that pushes his way out of his throat. The sword slips from his grasp, clattering onto the floor --

And then he’s being shoved. Shoved so hard through the air he nearly trips over a pile of rubble. Instead, he lands hard on his ass behind it and for a solid three seconds he sits there in total confusion, hearing only the sounds of the battle and his heartbeat loud in his ears. 

Then he feels a spurt of pee gush out and he’s frantically pulling down his bloomers, trying to get his tights down but it’s too late. He’s peeing, a forceful, unstoppable stream now, no amount of clenching his overtired bladder muscles can stop it. He lets out a soft cry as he wets right through his once-white tights, a puddle pooling underneath him.

Dave scrambles over the side of the rubble, plopping down beside him in a panting heap. Dirk wants to cry out  _ no no don’t look don’t look _ but all he manages are strangled apologies, his shades slipping off his face as he tries to wipe his eyes. 

He might as well just die of shame right here, right now. Dave will never want to be associated with him again. Who the fuck has so much trouble admitting their need, to the point where they piss their pants in battle, making everything a thousand times more difficult? He’s so disgusting, so pathetic --

Dave reaches forward, gripping Dirk’s shoulders. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, i-it’s not your fault, sh-shhh…” his voice is shaking. It’s very clear he’s trying very hard to keep his shaking from going to full out trembling. “It’s o-okay, ‘s okay…”

He’s still going. Dirk can see the puddle growing larger and larger, and while Dave’s quiet reassurances help a little, when he sees the puddle creep dangerously close to Dave, he can’t choke back his sobs, can’t tamper down his embarrassment when it starts wetting the side of Dave’s leg. But Dave doesn’t even seem to care. Dirk’s about ready to die of embarrassment and self loathing and Dave, he just wraps his arms around Dirk’s skinny frame and holds him close, rubbing his back with shaky hands, murmuring stuttered “it’s okay”’s and soft hushes. 

Dirk can’t even begin to understand how Dave can be holding him like this. He feels like he’s never going to stop pissing. It’s streaming out of him so fast but it feels like he’s been going forever. His tights are completely soaked. Dave’s pants are growing wetting by the second and it’s all Dirk’s fault. He’s so sorry, oh fuck, “‘m sssorry, I-I should've s-ssaid somethin’ before, I - it’s so hard fo-for me to but - but --” his speech is more slurred than normal but Dave seems to understand well enough because he squeezes Dirk tighter against his chest, nuzzles against his cheek and kisses his nose with a shyness and tenderness that makes Dirk’s heart flutter. 

His touch doesn’t burn like Jake’s did. 

Dirk lowers his head, burying his face in the crook of Dave’s neck. He cries, quietly, but hard enough that he trembles like a leaf in a gale. Dave does too, most likely unable to keep up his crumbling facade, and they shake together in each other’s arms. 

Dirk lets out little gasps and whines as he cries, feeling the last bits of pee flow out of him. He’s so relieved… So utterly mortified when he opens his eyes and sees the size of the puddle they’re sitting in. How could he have been holding so much? No wonder it hurt…

“Fuck… You really had to go.” Dave’s voice is still shaky. But, Dirk notes with confusion, although he feels so drained, Dave’s cheeks are flushed light pink. “How long were you…?”

“Two--two hours.” He sniffles and wipes roughly at his eyes. Dave winces a bit. He wipes away some stray tears with his thumb before placing Dirk’s shades back on his face. 

“That’s… Fuck. That’s a long time.”

Dirk nods a little. There’s a small silence, the only sounds coming from the battle still going on a few feet away from them, his soft sniffles, and their shaky breathing. The puddle they’re sitting in has chilled and he feels increasingly more uncomfortable. More vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry.” He feels like crying again. His tights are cold and clinging to his legs and he feels so disgusting. He plucks at his tights and they snap back against his leg with a wet sound. He wipes harshly at his eyes.

“Hey, shh. You don’t have to apologize. Let’s uhm, let’s - get you out of those tights.”

“But your--” he swallows thickly. He can easily toss away his tights and just pull up his bloomers, but Dave’s pants are wet and that’s all his fault.

“Mm? Oh. Don’t worry about it. C’mon, that must be uncomfortable.” Dave gives Dirk’s hands a tight squeeze before he helps him away from the puddle and out of the tights. They’re tossed aside and Dirk hurries to pull up his bloomers. He has no idea if Dave was looking, but he can’t afford to dwell on that lest he freak out again, and there’s been more than enough of that for one day.

Dave reaches for Dirk again and he takes Dave’s hand, taking several deep breaths before they make there way back to where their friends sit panting on the ground, wiping the sweat from their brows and putting away their weapons.

“Hey!” Jane calls out, waving and giving them a tired smile. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” they answer in unison. Suspicious maybe, and Jane gives them a knowing smile, but no one else questions it. Maybe they don’t notice. Whatever the reason, Dirk thanks the gods (thanks himself, because he’s technically a god now?). He squeezes Dave’s hand tightly. All he can look forward to now is getting back to someplace relatively safe, someplace he can take a goddamn shower, and someplace he can curl up against Dave’s side and feel safe.


End file.
